


The Choices We Make

by Dangerously_Demonic



Series: The Legacy of Darth Letum [8]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, I'ma stab people with feels, Our choices define us, What Have I Done, rp stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 05:40:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13207146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangerously_Demonic/pseuds/Dangerously_Demonic
Summary: In times of war, decisions must be made. The best choice is rarely the easiest and is usually fraught with second thoughts. What defines a man is how he faces the consequences of his actions.Post Ep. VIII AU, no spoilers.





	The Choices We Make

**Author's Note:**

> Random thing I typed up to punch my friend in the feels. It was part of a much longer faux RP/hypothetical scenario involving Ben Solo/Kylo Ren and my OC. Because we are Ben Solo shipper trash and exclusively live in the Star Wars trashcan.

It had been nearly four months since Ben's disappearance, and the war still raged on between the newly reforged First Order and the New Republic. While Clayton's empire had the resources to continue to fight for years and he knew the Republic didn’t, it was a stupid waste of life and resources to let it drag on. Normally not an indecisive man, Clayton had taken longer than usual to come to a decision. His admirals had long since started tugging at their leashes. Still, he hoped to find Ben, but his search for his apprentice through the force had yielded nothing. During all of this, his frequent counsel with the force ghosts had garnered a new whispered title: The Ghost Speaker. He thought that it was fitting enough, considering his reliance on them for advice in years past.

He had spoken to them about his plans several times, weighing and debating his potential choices. Only one was really a viable choice, in his eyes. Kenobi and Yoda begged for peace. Anakin and Windu cried to release the dogs of war. A frustrating stalemate for all involved. Leia still searched for her son and swore abandonment should he attack the Republic in her absence. While he hoped that she’d find something, he quietly feared that she wouldn’t.

Still Clayton had agreed to stay his decision until her return out of respect for what she had worked to build over the decades during her life. When she finally did reappear in front of him, the expression on her face was enough of an answer and it silently begged him not to attack. After a long moment of consideration he pushed himself up to his feet, then he waved away the ghosts to start for the bridge of his command ship.

Grim but determined steps carried him through hallways and he ignored the crisp salutes given to him. The time of inaction was over. He was tired of this dragged out war and knew what needed to be done. Already, he felt the weight of his choice weighing down on him. Upon reaching the bridge of his command ship, he gestured over his Admirals and ordered them to muster the ships on standby...Especially the experimental cloaked ships.

"I want them to converge on our location." His admirals were curious about his plan, never had they seen him muster such a large attack force. However, the communications station was already working to rely his orders.

"We're going to give the Republic a final chance to surrender." While this was met with barely restrained eyerolls, Clayton felt the action to be right. He would humor Leia, but he also knew that the Republic was too embittered to stand down.

"If they refuse...We wipe the capital off the face of the planet." It didn’t take a telepath to know that this statement pleased his Admirals to no end. Within hours, most of the fleet had assembled and had fallen into a standard flight formation. Still on the bridge, Clayton surveyed the fleet in front of him. It comprised of his command ship, three dreadnaughts, ten destroyers, and countless light fighters. It was impressive and reminiscent of fleets of centuries past.

"Set a course for the capital. I want the majority of the fleet cloaked when we arrive. As soon as we drop out of hyperspace, I want the Senate on the holo."

As the ship traveled through hyperspace, Clayton stood, hands clasped behind his back and reviewed his plan as he waited. Most of the fleet had been equipped with the cloaking technology, but some of the older ones still on patrol hadn't. It had been a lengthy and expensive overhaul because it meant the ship was out of commission for several weeks. Consequently, he had only ordered a handful of ships to be retrofitted at a time. Clayton had known that a war was coming, but he hadn't known if it would be the Republic or an outside threat. Force visions could be vague like that.

An ensign informed that they were about to drop out of hyperspace. Clayton tensed his jaw as they made the jump from hyperspace to real space and the planet came into view. Unsurprisingly, there was only a small fleet in orbit. Nothing compared to what had just dropped out of hyperspace and lurked hidden. Immediately, the Chancellor was on the holo, demanding that he turn back. It was a pathetic attempt and a last attempt at bravado.

Clayton interrupted him, "This is your final chance for surrender. You've pushed my hand and I have no desire for this war to continue to drag on. However, I refuse to allow this to go down in history as me not offering a final chance for peace."

The Chancellor sputtered and immediately brought up the Starkiller base and Snoke, before demanding to know 'and what fleet?'. Clayton had been over this countless times before with the fucking base and Snoke. He merely gave the gesture to an Admiral to uncloak the fleet. The Chancellor’s face went from belligerence, to shock, to realization, to horror.

"Will you surrender?" Clayton asked softly, a final time. Instead, the Chancellor screamed to 'scramble the fighters' and disconnected the call.

Leia appeared by his side, invisible to all but him, and begged him not to carry out the attack. Clayton ignored her and walked to the front of the bridge; he knew what he was about to order. He knew what it would bring and it was the last thing he wanted to do. An Admiral walked over to stand next to him and asked for his orders, impatient. Leia begged him to stop. Twenty pairs of eyes were focused on him and waited for the order. The Admiral repeated his question, impatience shifted to irritation. Already, crafts were fleeing the city. Some military, some civilian. Several made the jump to hyperspace before clearing the atmosphere, their pilots desperate to escape what was to come.

"...Fire. Orbital bombardment. Stop when the city is a crater, or the Republic surrenders." With a handful of words, he signed the death warrant of billions. Already, he could hear the whispers of terror in the force. Leia screamed obscenities in his ear and vanished. The first ion cannon blast had him tightening his hand into a fist. Millions dead with the first strike. The dreadnaughts fired again. And again. And again. The force cried out around him from the sudden death. He knew what he was doing; it would be another force wound like Dromund Kaas and another abomination he had committed. Clayton derived no pleasure from the action. He only stared at the planet, blandly.

The ion cannons finally fell silent, a soft whine as they were powered down. The city below was nothing more than charred wreckage, the once beautiful structures little more than whispered memories. In the skies around the command ship, the remains of the Republic fleet burned. The force still echoed with what was done; his Admirals congratulated each other with handshakes and back pats. Clayton was left feeling empty and numb at what he had ordered. So much death in such a short amount of time. He had seen plenty of war and caused plenty of death, but never had he ordered something of this magnitude.

The Admiral from earlier joined him at his side and requested instruction on what to do with captured ships. The glee in his voice disgusted Clayton, but he kept his temper soothed for the moment.

"Send word for all non-essential ships on patrol to enact humanitarian protocols." It's likely the last thing that anyone on the bridge expected him to order and Clayton wasn’t surprised when all talking stopped. Within seconds, everyone had turned their attention to him. The Admiral let out a slight laugh and began to speak. Clayton already knew what he was about to say, how he was going to paint the survivors as worthless curs. It only served to irritate Clayton. The Admiral made a slight noise and tugged at his collar at the sudden difficulty in breathing. It was clear that he was attempted to keep his composure in front of his subordinates.

"Admiral...Correct me if I'm wrong...But the Republic's capital city is in ruins, the majority of her elected officials dead, and the remains of her fleet are destroyed or disabled...Yes?"

The Admiral choked out a noise of agreement, his breathe ragged gasps in his attempt to get enough oxygen.

"It doesn't take a brilliant strategist to know that the Republic will surrender; it's merely a question of when. Upon their surrender, that will mean all planets under Republic control will immediately be under First Order control and thusly, our civilians. We do not ignore our citizens in time of disaster, do we?"

Another choked out agreement. The officers on the command deck kept their faces carefully neutral. None of them wanted to risk the same disciplinary action that the admiral was being subjected to.

"Then do it. Or I won't be so gentle next time." He released the Admiral who swiftly saluted and barked out orders in an eager attempt to regain credibility. Clayton turned and left the bridge to sooth his nerves. Upon entering his throne room, he was greeted by the sight Kenobi, Yoda, and Leia standing in front of the throne. Wordless, he waved away the guards. He didn’t need to hear the ghosts speak to know what they were thinking; their expressions were more than enough. What he ordered was horrific, and unlike in times past, he couldn’t really justify it.


End file.
